


Moments

by Raynidreams



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2011-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-26 01:13:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raynidreams/pseuds/Raynidreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Leoben POV: Flesh and Bone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moments

There are moments when a person... (I stop and smile) when every being feels the pull.  The drive.  The instinctive need to breathe and to drag in air more deeply.  When their heartbeat doubles and thumps so firmly within their breast that the pound of it can be felt not just in the chest but also in the head and the hands.  Throughout each vein as an instinctive throb of pure adrenaline.  It’s a lot like birth, or how mine was.  And I suspect that it’s the same for humans, though I doubt that they remember this like I and my kind do.   
  
The pain in my jaw aches as it howls at the back of my skull.  My throat clagged with liquid.  This moment becoming what I imagine a human birth to be over the birth or rebirth of a machine.  It’s all pain and pressure.  A moment of stunned ignorance about what is to come, before my instincts kick in and wrench me forwards as if flying within the mind of a Raider.  The rebound of the moment shaking within me.   
  
Birth.  Re birth.   
  
I am doubtless that she has forgotten what her birth was like though something within her still seems to scream of beginnings and endings to me.   
  
Parrying with death, the catalogue of pain on her appears to have shaped everything that she is post that first gasp of life.  Her own hands and head vibrating with an aura of old breaks.  Her heart aching even more from an old betrayal.  From fear.   I see that she's felt this savagery on a number of occasions.  And that guilt scars her too.  The trauma of her life mapped out there on the surface of her skin.  Sculpted even deeper in her mind.  Like the cracks in an oil painting that sever down into the canvas beneath.  A creature made of art but from artless hands.  Unskilled craftsmen that have shaped something so perfect and so perfectly flawed, that I am at a loss as to what to admire and what to pity.    
  
She is a stunning creation.  Like birth itself.  The trauma and miracle of creation. 


End file.
